


A Day on the Ark

by clare_dragonfly



Category: Defiance (TV)
Genre: F/F, Poetry, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare_dragonfly/pseuds/clare_dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stahma reads poetry, seduces nubile young Castithans, and meets a very interesting man named Datak Tarr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day on the Ark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Stahma opened her eyes as her voice died. This had been a difficult poetry session—her first since leaving Casti, her first on the great Ark. All the pain and fear of that migration had burned to spill from her mouth. But it was worth it for the looks on her friends’ faces.

One by one, they stood to take her hand and bow shallowly to her. “That was lovely, Stahma.” “Thank you, Stahma.” “You spoke my heart, Stahma.” “You are brilliant, Stahma.”

Only a few listeners. Some of them had been left behind on Casti, for only the select few had been able to make it onto the Ark. But how Stahma loved each and every one of them. If she had only been able to touch one person, it would have been enough for her. This was even better.

Yina lingered even after the others had left, clinging lightly to Stahma’s fingertips. “Stahma,” she began breathlessly, “you are so incredible. I—I almost want to ask you how you do it, but I don’t want to disrupt the magic.”

Stahma shook her head. “No magic,” she said gently. “It’s just a matter of reaching deep within and finding the right words.”

Yina looked down. “I don’t think I could do that,” she said. “But the way you do—it’s like you’re reaching within me, too.”

“That’s why I do it,” Stahma said, sliding one hand up the inside of Yina’s arm. “To speak for the people who can’t find a way to speak for themselves. If it helps you, it is worth the difficulty.”

Yina looked up at Stahma. She leaned slightly closer.

“There you are, Stahma,” said a brusque male voice from the door. Stahma covered her cringe and looked up at him, smiling. She released Yina gently, as though they hadn’t been doing anything wrong, which of course they hadn’t. Batar, naturally, didn’t see it that way. He saw her as already his. Which was a foolish notion. She belonged to no one but herself.

“You haven’t been doing that foolish poetry thing again, have you?” he asked, leaning against the doorway in a parody of calm. He was tall and strong and handsome, his long white hair perfectly smooth, his hands and nose straight and pure. Stahma was attracted to him. But he was boring.

She took a step toward him, still smiling. “It would be wrong of me to abandon my fans. I don’t like to hurt people.”

He reached out and took her wrist. “It hurts me when you don’t listen, Stahma. While you are an unattached lady, poetry is perfectly acceptable, but now that you are my betrothed, I demand that you turn your energy to proper wifely duties.”

“I am not your wife yet, Batar,” she reminded him, laying her hand across his as though she was not offended by the way he gripped her. “Wait until we reach our new world. Then I will be every inch the most proper Castithan wife you could wish for.” If she couldn’t find some way of getting out of it. And she thought she could. Her parents weren’t coming, after all. None of the older generation were—only those who were young enough to yet bear children on their own world.

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be risking social disgrace by refusing her betrothed. But those who knew her best were not here to forbid her specific activities.

“I’d like to return to my own quarters now,” she said, with a glance at Batar and one at Yina. “I need to rest. Perhaps I will see you at the public baths later, Batar.”

That promise, at last, made him relax his grip on her. He could not pass up the opportunity to see her at the baths—and that was the most he would see of her until they were properly married. Which she hoped, of course, would never happen.

She swept out of the room without a backward glance, heading down the corridor to her tiny, cramped quarters. She would resent them if it were not for the fact that everyone had the same, no matter how wealthy or highborn. Some of the others likely resented them merely because everyone had the same.

A young man stepped out of her way to let her pass. This was proper, as he was of a lower lira than she. He did not, however, bend his head to her or even avert his eyes as he should have, but let his clear yellow eyes follow her face and form hungrily. She curved her step a little more to give him a show.

She had heard about this young man: Datak Tarr. He was one of the lowest born to have found his way onto the Ark. He was bold and ambitious and dirty. The rumors about him flew thickly: that he had won his spot in illegal betting, that he had killed another man for his spot, that he had tricked his way onto the ship and left the man the spot was intended for to die on Casti, that he had promised disgusting favors to an Indogene woman to earn his spot, that he was no Castithan at all but an Indogene creation meant to spy on them, that he had secretly killed a woman since he had arrived on the Ark, that he was the power and money behind all the illegal betting going on regarding their eventual destination, that he had lewd and bizarre sexual appetites, that he was so strong he had once broken the bones in another man’s hand simply by squeezing it, that he was physically weak but a genius with a blade, that he was simply a fool who was too stupid to let anyone intimidate him and only his idiocy had garnered him his fearful reputation.

Stahma didn’t know which of the rumors were true, if any, and she didn’t care. What she cared about was that he was beautiful and that something about him had spawned those rumors. He was, without a doubt, extremely interesting. Stahma liked interesting. And so she courted the interest of interesting.

She felt his eyes on her all the way back to her quarters.

\--

Stahma lay awake in her narrow bed for almost an hour. She had truly intended to rest, but her mind kept buzzing over the day’s events, seeking some way to rid herself of Batar. The problem was not so much how to get rid of him as how to do it without anyone realizing she had, or to spin it so he was at fault. She had no desire to play the grieving widow.

There was a chime as someone requested entry to her room, and she sat up quickly, heart beating hard. Batar? Or perhaps Datak? If it was the latter she wished him to enter, and if the former she could not refuse him. “Come in,” she called, her voice activating the door’s controls.

The door slid open to reveal neither of those people. Stahma was surprised, and yet her heart did not stop its fevered beat. “Yina,” she said warmly. “How lovely to see you. How are you, my dear?”

Yina stepped forward hesitantly. Stahma rose to greet her, taking both of her hands. Yina inclined her head briefly. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” said Stahma. “I am very pleased to have you visit me.” She meant it. Yina was a beautiful girl, and sweet, and Stahma could simply never feel any ill will toward someone who enjoyed her poetry. She was far too vain, and she knew it. “Did you come here for any particular purpose?”

Yina shook her head. “I only wished to see you. And I hoped…”

“That I meant an invitation when I left you and Batar earlier?” Stahma’s smile widened, and she guided Yina to sit with her on her bed. “I did.” She liked her Castithan men, but oh, she liked her Castithan women, too. There was another drawback to her marriage plans: no proper Castithan man would allow his wife lovers outside the marriage, though of course, he could have as many as he liked. Stahma thought she might have to murder Batar if she were forced to make love to only him for the rest of her life. He was boring.

Yina was not thrilling, either, but Stahma had no intention of marrying her. She simply intended to enjoy herself. And so she did: she leaned forward and laid a kiss on Yina’s soft lips before the other woman had a chance to say anything else. Yina was startled at first, but then her lips went soft and pliant and oh so sweet. One of her hand came tentatively up to rest on Stahma’s hair. Stahma put both of her hands on Yina’s waist.

A moment later, though, Yina pulled back. “But—you and Batar—“

“Batar and I are not wed yet,” Stahma told her firmly. “And I intend to live my single life to its fullest before that happens. You make me happy, Yina, even if I will later be happy in a different way.” Best not to let anyone else know of her plans or of her unhappiness. Best if all suspicion could be kept away from her. Unless Yina could be—no, Stahma told herself. It would be wrong to use an innocent girl like that, when she could not even take herself away from the community that would judge her. If she were to rid herself of Batar, it would have to be either his own fault or some sort of accident.

Yina’s eyes lit up. “You make me happy, too, Stahma. I never would have believed that anyone as talented as you—“

“You have a beautiful heart, Yina,” said Stahma, lowering her head to the other woman’s sensitive throat. “That is what attracts me.”

“Oh,” said Yina, and then she did not say anything more—nothing that could be construed as words, that is.

—

Stahma did eventually make it to the baths; she did not, thankfully, encounter Batar. Her coterie surrounded her—except for Yina, who was inexplicably making herself absent, but Stahma did not mind. She flirted and talked until she felt she’d had enough, at which point she excused herself and dressed for the evening’s formal social engagement: a fancy dinner that promised to include exotic Sensoth food. Stahma did not expect to enjoy the meal, but she did expect to enjoy the company.

This time the coterie that surrounded her did include Yina. Stahma pressed her hand and smiled warmly. “I missed you at the baths this afternoon. I hope you are not unwell.”

Yina shook her head quickly, flicking her eyes nervously around. She did not have Stahma’s circumspection. “Perfectly well. It is kind of you to ask. I bathed this morning and desired some time to myself this afternoon.”

Stahma inclined her head in response and turned to another young woman to make conversation about the promised meal. She neither knew nor cared whether Yina intended a slight by her avoidance. She still had her attention, and what else mattered?

Her question was quickly answered, and she had to swallow a curse as she saw Batar cutting a swath through the crowd on his way to her. He took her arm in a way that brooked no argument. “You shall be by my side during this meal,” he told Stahma. “Your friends may find their own amusement.”

“I am sure they are perfectly capable of doing so,” she said graciously, allowing him to lead her away. “You know I will soon be yours, Batar. There is no need to police my movements so closely.”

He helped her into a seat. “I think there is. I’m watching you, Stahma. You want more than a Castithan wife should.”

She turned to him as he sat, giving him her nastiest smile. “We’re traveling to a new land. Who knows what we should want there, or who will get what they want.”

Batar looked away from her at that. She was right, and he knew it. Everything would have to change when they arrived at their new world—everything that possibly could, at least. And Batar chafed at that knowledge and the fact that he had to wait to marry Stahma until they actually did arrive. There could be no true Castithan marriage without the open sky above them and a place to go into for the first family bath. Bad enough that their parents would not be able to join them.

Perhaps, Stahma thought, when they reached the new planet she could escape him somehow. There would be plenty of space, after all. If they were back on Casti she would know exactly how to escape him. In the new place it might be even easier. He would not know where to follow her.

But then no one else would know how to follow her either. She could not bear to be alone. Perhaps she could begin making plans with her coterie to recruit as many others at they could and create their own small Castithan enclave on the new planet. They could make new rules for themselves, even more radical than the ones that would have to be changed due to the new environment. They could put women above men—it would be easy to convince most of them of that, since they would follow her before anyone else.

But, other than those who followed her poetry, who could Stahma convince to leave with her? It was likely an idle fancy. And how she chafed against the waiting to find out what could really happen.

Datak Tarr sat down at the table across from her.

Immediately Batar’s shoulders stiffened and he stared straight at the other man. Stahma folded her hands before her in a position of calm disinterest to hide her real feelings. At last, perhaps, something interesting was going to happen.

“Get out of here, trash,” said Batar, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “Sit with those like you, and stay out of the way of respectable people.”

“I don’t think you should speak to me in that way,” said Datak, his voice calm and expressionless. “It might make me angry.” He was looking at Batar, but Stahma thought he might be paying more attention to her.

“You don’t frighten me, Tarr,” scoffed Batar.

“Of course not,” said Datak. “You’re a perfect specimen of a Castithan man. There is nothing that frightens you.” Was that a touch of mockery in his voice? Stahma gave an inward shiver of delight and allowed her mouth to quirk up slightly in a smile.

“You should leave,” repeated Batar. “My lady here doesn’t wish to see your ugly face.”

“I think your lady can speak for herself,” said Datak, finally turning to Stahma and inclining his head in a gesture of respect. “Datak Tarr.”

“Stahma Yurmaya,” she introduced herself, her smile growing.

“Don’t speak to him,” snapped Batar.

Datak stood abruptly, his bright eyes flashing. “Don’t speak to a lady that way. Especially a lady you claim to care for.”

He kept his cool, yet had a temper. Stahma barely restrained herself from biting her lip in excitement.

Batar stood as well, throwing his napkin to the table. “Do you insult me, Tarr?”

A fight might be just the thing, Stahma thought. Exciting. Thrilling. But an unplanned fight in public like this would also be humiliating—even humiliating for her, if Batar lost, and she suspected he would. She laid her hand gently on his arm. “You don’t need to fight him, Batar. He’s already embarrassed himself enough. And look, they’re about to serve the food.”

Both men sat down slowly, neither taking their eyes off the other. “I hope this will be the last I see of you, Tarr,” Batar said softly.

Datak shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think so. I made my way onto this ship. I’m more powerful than you think I am, and there’s a new world coming.” He sat back to allow the server to apply a neat curve of pureed something to his plate. “Soon I’ll be the one with power, and I’ll get the things that I want, even from people like you. Especially from people like you.” His eyes cut toward Stahma at his last words.

She smiled at him over the server’s arm. Yes, this Datak Tarr was very interesting indeed. He would be a useful one to have by her side.

She wondered what he thought of poetry.


End file.
